Transitions

Carys Comma

2012-01-24T00:42:00.004-05:00

Be Strong.

I tell you and your brother that all the time. Usually, somebody is crying or so frustrated with circumstances that it seems like the only way to react. I often fear that I sound like a jerk more than a loving father. Maybe I am both. What I am trying to say to you guys is that the struggles in life are opportunities for us to be strong. During such times we face a stark and brutal choice: we can overcome the injustice or let the injustice overcome us.

The world around us is a bit mixed up about strength. The world spends a lot of time trying to implode and inflict harm. Why? Because we that populate this planet are full of ambition, greed, and worse. So, as an expression of our inner values, we declare the person most apt to kick the crap out of somebody else to be the stronger.

There is a dark honesty toward submitting to the most violent among us. Unfortunately, it makes for a terrible place to live.

There is another way - a better way. There is a deeper and better strength. The deeper strength belongs to the woman who can overcome hatred, to a person who can reconcile. The deepest strength resides in the person who can stand true to their values without violating them at the same time.

But, a word of caution. In our messed up world, the deepest strength is sometimes thought of as weak.

My daughter, I hope you can remember that strength - true strength - is not a measurement of our muscle mass or our ability to endure. Instead, true strength is the measurement of our moral fiber. True strength is a living pronouncement of how dedicated we are to what is right and good.

I so want you to be strong, even if that makes you weak.

Dada

image source: DeviantArt

Caedmon Comma

2012-01-15T23:52:00.001-05:00

It is tempting to worry over you and your future.

You are such a sensitive little boy right now. There are times that I will catch just sitting and watching people - enraptured and learning. But, it is not necessary for you to be observing them directly. For, you can be playing or wrapped up in a project and still be listening and learning. You are quick to emulate your peers and repeat the things they say. Rarely are you ever the leader in a social situation. You seem content to sit back and blindly follow.

There are times you do or say the craziest, most random things, and we eventually find that these things have been learned by some friend.

You are sweet and innocent. You know the thrill of belonging and believing. It is so easy for you to find your smile when you are with loud and lively friends. That smile - a merciless deluge of pure joy - I love seeing it.

In fact, the only time you ever seem to assert your independence is when it comes your mom and me. You are more than willing to look skeptically upon our words and promises. There are times that you lash out at us in anger, or sulk away in a resigned, bitter surrender.

You know, we spend so much energy and time trying to keep the horrors of the world away from your field of vision. We try to insulate you from all the mess that weighs us down. But, I see that it has seeped into your life already. This seepage wasn't something we could have easily prevented, for we are its source.

With nausea, I realize that your mom and dad taught you about disappointment and shame. In some weird way, I think we're supposed to teach you such things. It is a part of what a smart guy once called the process of 'individuation.' You become who you are by distinguishing yourself from us.

That's fine. I get it.

But, your deluge smile is so powerful and such an incendiary joy that I wrecked by knowing I could suppressed it in any way. Don't let me or anyone else do that. Embrace your shame, accept the disappointments, and let your deluge smile flood over the world.

Carys Comma

2011-12-07T00:21:00.000-05:00

It is not that I am crazy, I'm just numb... constantly.

A long time ago ( I was 17) a bunch of stuff came crashing down on me at once. There was messiness, there was family drama and there was a pretty laughable suicide attempt. People asked me if I wanted to die. I don't know. I think it was just a natural end to the lunacy of my life at the time.

But, I have done fairly well since. I do it for you. You shouldn't ever have to live with somebody who stares through you with a nauseating numbness. You shouldn't be loved by anyone who can hardly get out of bed each day. You are far too beautiful and full of magic to experience such a depressing fate. To me, you are the reality of Almighty God incarnate - the proof of hope.

So, I press on for you, my darling light.

Dada

Caedmon Comma

2011-12-04T00:00:00.000-05:00

My Son, you have nowhere to be.

I drive too fast. You may have noticed.

When the cops pull you over and you give them some lame excuse, they always say, 'Well maybe you should've left earlier.' And, of course they are right. But, I speed even if I have plenty of time. I speed when I just take you your sister out on a casual drive.

Why do I drive so fast? Why am I always in a hurry, even if I'm not going anywhere?

I'm starting to realize that I'm only in a rush when I am not somewhere. I rush when I am between places, even if there is no reason to hurry. I think this silly manic place is a result of an old insecurity:

I want to be somewhere.

When I look in the mirror, I don't want to see some nowhere person, I want to see a man that is somewhere. I prefer to be at my destination than en route. Yet, it seems that I have spent my whole life en route. Life has been full of location changes, job changes, and transitions. All I want is to arrive.

So, I speed, hoping to arrive sooner.

I remember one time when I did not speed. You don't remember it. You were only two days old.

We put your small self in a carseat. We fussed with the buckles and straps and made sure that the blankets were just perfect. Your mom sat in the backseat with you and I climbed behind the driver's seat. I started the car, released the clutch and slowly pulled away. Everything was done carefully. For, I knew that you, the most precious thing in my life, were in the backseat.

We took our sweet time getting back to our house that day. No hurry, no rush. I was cognizant of safety, yes, but I also had a realization. I had nowhere to be. My most pressing destination was tucked into blankets and buckles in the backseat of our slow-moving car.

My son, I hope that you are never driven by destination or insecure about where you are. For, you are the destination.

Carys Comma

2011-11-22T08:59:00.001-05:00

My Daughter,

Here is a story about faith:

Once there was a small village that was attacked by adragon. The dragon crushed houses, killed townspeople and burned the wholevillage to the ground. Left sitting in the charred remains of her town was a younggirl. While mourning her loved ones, the girl resolved to do whatever she couldto find some way to defeat the dragon.

Defeating the dragon seemed impossible until she heard people make mention ofsomething called the Old Blade. The Old Blade was a sword that was said to give the wielder abilities to accomplish great feats, like slaying dragons. The problem, though,was that the ancient artifact that had been lost for generations.

Immediately, the girl knew she had found her solution. Shevowed before the whole village not to return to her home until the Old Bladewas found. Then, she set out to. The quest was not easy. The girl suffered,starved, and fought her way through some of the most difficult terrain anddifficult people. From one end of the world to another, she searched and she allowed nothing to stand in her way. She grew strong and became a mighty adventurer. Sheaccomplished deeds that almost seemed magical. Her name became legend.

The girl became a woman as many years passed, and shefinally returned to the village. People gathered around her and welcomed herback. They were impressed with her radiant appearance and intimidating confidence. She looked as if she could do anything. They asked if they would now be safe from the Dragon and she answeredthat they now would. They asked if she had found the Old Blade and she said that shehad.

“May we see the magical weapon?” they eagerly asked.

Totheir shock, she responded by revealing that she did not bring the artifactback with her. Despairing, the people questioned why she would go through somuch and then not return with the Blade.

“Because,” the great adventurer responded, “it now seemsobsolete.”

May you fear none of this world's dragons, my daughter.

Dad

Caedmon Comma

2011-11-20T00:00:00.000-05:00

My son,

My heart is not so harsh as my eyes, I hope. I know how often I must frustrate you. In fact, you tell me so on a regular basis. I can become so focused on my own rules and expectations that I forget you are learning and that sometimes learning is difficult.

Please always remember that I am also learning, and it is difficult for me, too.

Dada

Carys Comma

2011-11-13T11:39:00.000-05:00

Where did all this come from? All this shameless truth and hope? It all bleeds from you in every grimace and smile.

Do such gifts emanate from your soul? If they do, then your soul must outsize mine. It must be the size of an ocean and growing. It floods and fills our lives. The torrent of your beauty pushes through doors that are supposed to be locked and secret places that I hoped would remain hidden.

But, your shameless flood is too powerful to withstand. Your innocent joy illuminates even my darkest places. You should be sanctified, my daughter, as a sacrament - a gift from God. May God never let me forget the gift that you are- a holy and acceptable flood of his beauty and grace.

Caedmon Comma

2011-09-16T14:42:00.000-04:00

My Son,

Why can't you stop? Just stop.

You started pre-school a little while ago. You had a backpack on and bravely waltzed into a future that I could not guarantee. Your future will look a lot like my past, no doubt - bullies, girls, danger, and beauty. You are proud to be growing older and tackling new adventures. But, your mother and I are scared to death.

Where did our little boy go? How did you get so big, so old, so fast? Were we just not paying attention? Has it really been 4 years.

Four.
Wonderful.
Years.

It seems like just yesterday that you spent most of your days sleeping, and when you weren't sleeping you would stare fascinated at your hands or cry for milk. Now, you are so much bigger and older and smarter. You're off to school!But, all this growing and learning comes with a daunting price. You're no longer as innocent and you're no longer fascinated by your hands.

And we want to stop the inevitable. We want to ensure that you don't outgrow us. Maybe we just want you to stop so that we can catch up.

Part of it is pure selfishness. We've grown used to having you around 24/7. In fact, we may have taken it for granted. We used to hang on your every coo and breath. Eventually, your voice and activity became just a buzz of background noise. You faded from the foreground to the background.

Now, since you now spend so much of your days at school. We no longer have you, and your beautiful voice and your wonderful activity and we miss you.

My son, you're getting older and better - more righteous and wonderful by the day. We love to watch in wonder as you evolve. You remain our light and glory. You are a blazing astronomical source of hope and truth.

And we love you.

Yours,

Dada

Carys Comma

2011-09-10T14:19:00.000-04:00

I want you to be wise about what’s good,

and innocent about what’s evil.

Daughter of my Heart,

My Dad (your Papa/grampa) was just one in a line of poor farmers. His parents were simple people with a depth that was both broken and beautiful. They passed on a simple wisdom to my Dad that he used like a compass to guide him through the strange, harsh brokenness that they also gave to him.

He believes in hard work.
He believes in dedication to family.
He believes in doing your best.

Your grampa had no idea how to raise a family, and he had no idea how to guide three little boys through a divorce and the death of their mother. Yet, at the same time, he was perfect for the task. He approached the terrible reality with a simple resolution - he worked hard, loved much, and did the best that he could.

He passed on to me his simple resoluteness and his complex brokenness. He has plenty to be ashamed of in raising your uncles and I, but he has so much more to be proud of.

Growing up, whenever we would leave the house, he would always tell us the same thing 'Be good.' To this day, he ends phone conversations by telling me to 'be good.'

It is a simple and straightforward parental edict, yet it carries with it a mighty weight of responsibility.

My prayer for you echoes my father's simple edict. I pray that you would be good - not for me or your mother. I hope that you are good for yourself, and your happiness and for the elusive confidence whose absences carves at our hearts and fills the new cave with guilt.

Your goodness is your happiness. So, be good. Be so good that you are filled with a simple, broken, unconquerable joy.

Caedmon Comma

2011-08-16T20:31:00.004-04:00

Dark Guile

If I left you, it was just an illusion. I doubt I was ever there. I wanted to be with you for every breath, but always I would slip away - back into my terror-drenched amnesia. I never want to leave you. But, I am always pulled away by the slow beat of the drummer, calling for retreat.

You are the enemy I find in the mirror. You are the villain of my heart and the enemy that resides in the depths of my soul. Every time you look at me - through me - with your knowing eyes, I want to run from you stark and afraid by the truth I see.

All your power vexes me in our closest moments. During our rare embraces, I am filled with horror and fear and immeasurable love. All my shame, guilt, and sin throbs and nauseates as the thrill of your grace rushes in my life.

It is all too much. You are far too holy for me. So, I run headlong as far away as I can, to find some cold addiction and feed my foolish guile.

'I love you, Dada..'

Don't say that, my son. It is more than I can bare and more than I deserve. It is too holy for one who has yet to be absolved by the enemy in the mirror.

Carys Comma

2011-06-09T00:55:00.003-04:00

My daughter,

Two years. You have been here with us for two years, now. In that two years, you have clearly tried to teach us that you are your own person. You've got your own style and your own way of seeing the world. At times, it has been hard for me to accept this lesson. I'm kinda old school and I like to be in charge. But, please, keep teaching me. One day, I hope to finally figure it out.

It has been an amazing two years, Carys. You are so beautiful, so full of life. You are the truest thing I have ever known.

Love,

Dada

Caedmon Comma

2011-06-06T23:58:00.003-04:00

My Son,

There are times at night while you sleep, when I struggle in the night to stay awake. Sometimes I get so overwhelmed by my concern for your wellbeing, that I try to sleep as lightly as possible so I can listen. What am I listening for? Maybe it is some irregularity in your breathing. Maybe it is you calling out in distress. Maybe I am listening for some phantom of the night intruding into our home.

The truth is, I don't know what I'm listening for. It just seems like if I can keep my eyes open, I can be there for you.

I want to be there for you, my boy. There is so much in this world that is dangerous and complex, and one day you will be old enough to deal with it, but not yet. Until you can deal with this world on your own, I want to be the shelter and the guide. The thought of failing you in this role, keeps me awake at night.

But, alas, I always seem to fall to sleep. The fears and concerns slowly become muted and they fade. Despite my listening, despite the dangers, my eyes inevitably close. And when they close, they close with a calm faith that you will be okay.

I am so afraid to die, to leave you behind. I want to be there for you.

I live in fear that the grip that I have on you and this life will slip, just as my mother's did. I am paralyzed by the thought of you having to live your life on your own - bewildered and vulnerable. I hate the thought of your small hands grasping in the dark, lost and your confused voice calling for me.

I want to tell you that I won't ever leave you. I want to say that I will always be here for you. But, I can't promise that. All we have is the time that we are given and who can know when that time will end.

All I can promise is that I will try to alway be there for you, but one day I will not. Depsite my efforts otherwise, one day my eyes will close a final time. And when they do so, they will close with a calm faith that you will be okay.

They say there is another life beyond this one. But, I am terrified of any life that requires me to leave you in the previous one.

Dada

Carys Comma

2010-12-09T01:35:00.003-05:00

“Wake up, O sleeper,

rise from the dead,

and Christ will shine on you.”

My Daughter,

Why am I telling you this? I am certainly not telling you to wake up. Instead, I am telling you the opposite. Sleep. Sleep, my child, as long as you can. For sleep lasts only so long and then what?

Some years ago, I awoke, startled, and barely recalling a dream. When I awoke, looked around me to find a room so vast that no walls could be seen. The ceiling was low, as if not meant for any person to stand. All around me were cots filled with sleeping people. There were hundreds, thousands... all sleeping.

I crawled around for a while. I tried to wake others up. I tried to make sense of this endless sleeping, this huge place of slumber. But no one wanted to wake up. Nobody wanted to believe that life was anything more than dreams. These sleepers were not happy with me. They kicked me, lashed out at me, and held fast to their sleep and their dreams. I now know why. Here in this Awakening I can see the blessedness of the Dream.

There was a point I even tried to go back to sleep, to recapture the dream. But, it was no use. After a life time of sleep, I can not go back from whence I came, and the Dream is gone as soon as you realize what it really is.

So, now, I wander, in and out of cots, crawling in darkness amongst the satisfied sleepers. If this place has days, then every day I feel no superiority to the sleepers, only regret. I am filled with regret - regret for something I did not do.

I can't help but wonder. Why did I wake up? Why am I forced to be a refugee? I did not choose it, yet I can not undo it. I am forced to listen to the gentle breathing of the Unconscious, and I am filled with a miserable envy.

In the moments after I had first woke up, it seemed to me that the vast room was lit by a distant light. The light was coming from somewhere that I thought was the East. But, that Awakening was long ago. I wonder if such light can only be seen by those who sleep, for it has been long since I saw it last.

Dada

Caedmon Comma

2010-11-13T11:27:00.006-05:00

bisabuelos

My Son,

I suppose at some point I should tell you the story of us.

How we found ourselves here, wherever this is.

My mother's family came to Michigan from Texas. My grandparents were raised somewhere near San Antonio. Reyes and Maurillia were their names, and they will only be names to you, and stories. But, they are important because they are a part of who we are.

They were Mexican, speaking Spanish and struggling in an English world. They were a poor in wealth living rural lives. Annually, they would make the long trip to Northern Michigan to work in orchards during the Summer months. The allure of Michigan pulled them in, as it often does, and they settled down to stay.

My mother (Maria) was born in 1959. Her birth was preceded by six others. Her parents were getting older and, consequently, much of her upbringing was placed in the hands of her older siblings.

I don't know much of those early years. Grandpa worked driving truck, for the most part. He was a quiet man and it was Grandma that really ran the show. She was a large woman and not to be tangled with. But, there was a delightful gentleness about her and a contagious joy, a joy she found in her family.

Grandpa struggled, for a time, with drinking, until he was shamed into reform. He bravely changed his life, in the quiet way that was his. There are various versions of the story. But they all seem to revolve around the central fact that he made a drunken fool of himself in front of his family. The incident affected him powerfully, especially when he saw the reaction of his young granddaughter.

My son, we are all fools when we are drunk. Some people can not see their own foolishness, so they continue. Grandpa saw it. He saw it in the eyes of his family and it pierced him, changed him. Shame was certainly a huge motivator for his change, but I like to think of it as love. And maybe shame and love overlap in a family in ways that can change.

When I came along, years later, I would spend weeks during the Summer staying with Grandpa and Grandma. Those were almost always happy times. They were times full of a family that was close in a way that I never saw on my Father's side of the tree. To be certain, things could get messy, but always close.

I remember several occasions when Grandma would get after him loudly to do one thing or another. He would say to me 'See that, mijo? Grandma, she the boss, huh?' Then he would smile, wink, cuss a few times, and comply.

I have trouble conjuring a memory of Grandma where she is anywhere but the kitchen. She was a wonderful cook. And she maintained a certain gravity that pulled family activity to where she was - sitting, preparing, cooking, loving us in a way that was all her own.

Grandpa and Grandma buried three of their children.

Our family tree is certainly not an evergreen, son. It is flush with the beautiful foliage of a hardwood. But, from time to time, the Autumn comes, and our family tree will drop its once bright leaves onto the soft snow of winter.

Grandma left first. She passed from this life in the Summer of a new millennium. With tears, we gathered around her, a large family packed into a small hospital room - close.

Grandpa was never the same. He joined her five years later, passing from this world quietly and loved.

They are now among The Once Were and Will Be Again. Their leaves have fallen from the tree, while we remain here and struggle to remember and by remembering, we know they can Be and so can we.

Dada

Carys Comma

2010-10-19T15:30:00.004-04:00

My Daughter,

I have always been taught that Christ died and then he rose from the dead. Because he has risen, we have hope.

But what is hope? news that people can get out of their graves seems more scary than hopeful. What is this hope?

AS far as I can tell, hope is something that is stronger than the wishful thinking of delusional religious people. Hope is stranger and more rigorous than the shameless optimism of the naïve. Hope is transcendent. It is unreal. It is the faith we maintain in the divine beauty found only in that which we have not yet experienced.

But, do I really believe that Jesus got up out of the ground and that he rose from the dead? Do I believe all these silly Bible stories about how everything is to be made right one day?

I do. I believe in the unbelievable. I believe in the possibility of the impossible and unreality of the real. I am a no-good fool.

Such is the plight of faith.

My daughter, don't pursue faith to find answers, pursue faith to lose answers. Don't explore faith to find God. He is found whenever he chooses to be. Don't look to faith to give you a comfortable spirituality or simple explanations that solve your confusions. Faith in Jesus is not the stuff of sitcoms where it is all wrapped up at the end of a half hour with a final punch line. It is also not for the sensible, wholesome caretakers of religiosity. The Jesus faith is for the restless refugees. It is for those of us that realize the Emperor is naked. It is for the confounded and dissatisfied victims of our own oppressions.

I hope you never look to me for the answers, since I have so few. But, I do have a great love for you and I think we might find some answers in there.

I hope you never know a God who is spiteful and filled with hate (as I have), but I do hope that you are honest enough to see that spiteful God is real.

I hope you never grieve at the loss of your faith, but I know you will and I know those tears are the seeds of truth.

I hope you never find faith, my daughter, and in not finding it, I hope you find it more than I have.

Dada

Caedmon Comma

2010-08-30T17:27:00.003-04:00

My son,

Our short time together has evaporated quickly. Time is rarely patient.

I have heard a great many things in my life about the importance of the eternal. I have been oft told that the momentary things of this world are useless in the grand scheme of things. They said The Eternal - that is what is most important.

But you have taught me something different, my son. You have taught me that the ultimate goal is to find the eternal within the moment. The time has come for me to begin.

Dada

Carys Comma

2010-06-20T11:56:00.002-04:00

My Daughter,

Crushed

In pieces

We fall

Before our father

Beyond Origin

Ragged and tired, I awkwardly try to guide you through these first months of your time here. Lithe and flame soaked, you shimmer with energy and life, oblivious to the Struggle.

Someday, you may ask me why we suffer. I will flee the question like a chickenshit coward that prefers darkness to light. But, if I am honest with you, I will say that it all comes back to our Father, who is in Heaven, hallowed be his name. This, though, will come as no comfort to you. It is none to me.

Every year, in my days as a boy, we would run out of firewood. My Dad would prod me to get on my boots and warm clothes, while he went to prepare the chainsaw. Through the wind and cold, he would trudge through deep, merciless winter snow. I would follow in his path, where the snow was less deep, and the effort less miserable.

Dada

Caedmon Comma

2010-06-15T23:54:00.002-04:00

My Son,

I read something tonight that struck me as true. I do not fear being a fool. I am a fool and I know it. Instead, I fear that my family thinks that I am fool. That is a horror I can hardly imagine.

My son, find a spouse and build a family that loves your foolishness. In that, you will all find freedom

Dada

Carys Comma

2010-06-09T12:56:00.004-04:00

noctivagant

My Daughter,

Wandering, listless, we awkwardly spill through a life we've been given. The night fills our vision, strangles our sight, and with hands outstretched we try to anticipate and grasp an unsure, momentary future. This future is unknown, my child. So, also, is the method for finding this future.

Some tell us there is a compass that will help us find our way. If there is a compass, where can it be found? Some say it is in our hearts. Some say it is found in the sacred.

I trust neither.

Instead, I believe that our path is found in truth. Not the truth that lies within us, nor is it above us, transcendently divine. Rather, truth is a companion that is finding her way through the darkness with us, and we can even see her, via the luminescence of our faith.

Illuminate, my child. Find your way.

Dada

image source

Caedmon Comma

2010-03-26T01:14:00.003-04:00

My son,

You and your sister are so amazing. Daily, I am filled with unspeakable shame that such glories are wasted on me.

Yes, I think about myself.

I know it is an awful self-centered thing to do. But, I look at your lovely life and I can't help but wonder how much better your life would be with a father that was a better provider, a better example, and a better man.

I wish I could tell you that I will give you all of me, though that is limited. No, long ago I realized I would rather not do a thing than fail at something I did. So, I'll probably shirk my responsibilities. I'll probably never open myself up to you.

I'll probably be my own saboteur.

How pathetic.

Be better. If there is one prayer I want answered, it is that you would be better. I pray you would surpass my half-assed bumbling through a life in which I have always been overmatched.

Dada

Keelie Comma

2010-03-18T00:06:00.001-04:00

My wife,

My vocation has brought less and less security as the days and years have passed. My shame for this fact is immeasurable.

All you ever wanted was to be a mother...

Once again, you are returning to work...

And our security is a myth - again.

Forgive me for these failures that you must pay for.

You deserve more. Much more. Endless beauty such as yours should procure a king's ransom, a glorious sum. Yet, you are stuck here with a pauper and a pittance.

Injustice abounds.

Carys Comma

2010-02-21T00:20:00.004-05:00

My Daughter,

It has been work to be a good father. Much of the time that you are awake, I hide. I don't know what to do with you. Then, tonight, I watched over you while your mother was away.

I was so frustrated with you. I was angry. God help me.

But, I don't think my anger came from your behavior. Yes, you were crying and screaming. But, you're not even a year old! How stupud to be angry about that.

Instead, I think I was frustrated with myself. I have no idea how to be a good father to you. I think I was frustrated because I was incapable of giving you what you needed. I was angry because of me, not you. I fall below the high standard of what a person as wondrous as you deserve.

I slipped in to see you as you slept tonight.

You're so beautiful and good.

Let nothing...

NOTHING

Let nothing I ever say convince you otherwise. Your life can outshine mine, even if all you do is smile.

I love you.

Let nothing...

NOTHING

Let nothing I ever say convince you otherwise.

It is hard work for me to be the father you deserve and I am more inclined to hide than actually work at it. Forgive me, my lovely girl, and be patient with me. I will get better as you touch me about love.

Love,
Dada

Caedmon Comma

2010-02-18T00:34:00.005-05:00

My son,

You are growing. It is shocking to awake every new day and find you a brand new person.You have words that you did not have the day before. You have discoveries you are eager to share.

"Look, Dada!"

Your face even changes these days, as new expressions, and new subtleties of emotion find their way into your life.

You are heartrendingly thoughtful.

You are joyously sensitive.

You are boldly hungry for a new laughter.

Tomorrow when our family awakes. You will bless us all. You will bless us with eyes that are wide with new discovery, and a life that is hungry for the love that we desperately need to give to you.

You are a remarkable and stirring truth, Caedmon.

Caedmon Comma

2010-01-16T00:56:00.002-05:00

My son,

My mother, your blessed abuela, died when I was young. Yet, I t think of her daily.

You are blessed, my son, to have a mother. She is so good and kind. I pray that your my mama lives long, so you may experience every kindness that lies within her.

I would wager that her goodness would stretch through 10 lifetimes and more.

Dada

_____

Carys Comma

2010-01-14T13:54:00.003-05:00

My Daughter,

There is a strange paradox found in the North. Winter days are opressive in their gray. Any light that sneaks through the constant cloud cover turns to ash when it finally arrives. Those who live in such places, during such times are susceptible to certain ailments that are a result of our want of light.

At night, it is different. Often in the night, my eyes will open, and I will crawl out of bed to look in on you as you sleep. If I part the drapes on your window, at times your room will be lit by the mysterious winter light. The room will glow.

I am not sure where it comes from - this light. I think it has to do with the natural luminoscity snow. The light seems to eminate from the frozen ground like some ancient magic meant to illuminate the whole world.

So it is with you, my light. Like the light of the winter streaming through your window, you also are a beautiful illumination - a luminescent magic bursting forth from darkness.

Dada

Caedmon Comma

2009-12-25T00:21:00.002-05:00

My Son,

I have no emotional connection to you.

I realized this today as I was driving back from a Christmas Eve service. There were carols, candles, and so much talk of peace.

On the road home, the road was so empty and the snow was just white enough, that I turned my headlights off and drove with the darkness, through the darkness.

When you were just born, I had such a hard time making a connection to you. I thought to myself that I would have more of a connection one day when you were more able to interact and communicate.

One day has become two years.

I want to be able to embrace you and openly weep for the joy that you give me, the glory. I want to be able to express the absolute fire you ignite within my soul.

But I can't. I feel like this may have robbed you of so much.

I do love you. You're amazing. You're the truth that illuminates my night. I just haven't quite figured out a way to express that.

Dada

Carys Comma

2009-11-19T18:57:00.002-05:00

My Daughter,

The worries that fill our minds too often revolve around money. It is an endless orbit and unfulfilling. The faster things spin, it seems, the more things spin out of control.

It is foolish. I am the greatest fool. Worries are a merry go round solution to a transportation problem.

Yet, I worry.

I would like to learn from you. The only scrap of money, you've ever grasped went directly in your mouth, and you found more use for it than I.

Perhaps your wisdom can resolve this rotation, endless and futile.

Dada

Carys Comma

2009-10-15T00:10:00.001-04:00

My Daughter,

There is shame and hope
In everything that we do
But there it meld to beauty
Enough to carry us through
To the shores of Alaska
As the ice meets the snow
Where the shame and the hope
Both urge us to Go.

Dada

Keelie Comma

2009-08-25T01:28:00.005-04:00

Keelie,

Well, I have nothing
I have no one
I've been so quickly set free
and I love nothing
I love no one
Are words that you whisper in my mind, to someone
I don't know
to someone I don't know
to someone

So walk with me
on this new spring morning
I'll walk you 'till your fears are none
I'm a new baby weeping
I'm the flower you're keeping
that without love will wilt and die

I need your life in my life
need your life in my life
need your life

so come back to me
my darling
come back to me
my darling

I'd do anything to be at your side
I'd be anyone to be at your side
I need your life in my life
need your light in my life
need your light

- Noah and the Whale
"I Have Nothing"

Carys Comma

2009-08-18T00:02:00.006-04:00

My Daughter,

I can recall a conversation that we have never had, and yet we have.

I lag behind you, still.

"Follow me in, just a little further," you whisper at the edge of the Darkness, "I think we can find him, if he is near."

"No, no, honey, we should not go farther. It is dark."

"But, Daddy, all that darkness can reveal him and we can find what you've been searching for. You can be happy again."

"I'm happy..." I correct you, "I'm happy enough."

You don't believe me, but you smile nonetheless and encourage me on. "C'mon, Daddy, we'll find him I'm sure."

Yet, I lag behind.

And I'm sure, too, which may be the reason that I retreat. Perhaps, that is the reason that I can not seem to learn all that you could teach me. You can illuminate any abyss, but I fear your light. I lag behind.

Your father, my dear, is a broken up man, full of shame and fear. I am so good at sounding like I love you, but on the precipice of all that is good and all that is terrifying, I let you go ahead, while I lag behind.

There is so much I regret, and I hate the fact that I think of all that mess, when I see how beautiful you are, and wonderful.

Caedmon Comma

2009-07-24T23:27:00.001-04:00

My Son,

I had a day dream today. I dreamed that your mother and I played the lottery and won. In my dream, when we realized that we were winners, we started jumping and dancing and cheering with joy.

In this dream, you looked upon our revelry with a curious expression, as if confused.

I awoke from the dream, startled to think of so much happiness coming from money.

Dada
Sent from my BlackBerry Smartphone provided by Alltel

Carys Comma

2009-07-21T23:23:00.001-04:00

My Daughter,

I don't have much, but what I do have often seems to hold a death grip on my throat. I am stifled by the thought of losing the things I have, and I am frightened by the thought that all my life has amounted to the collection of that which burns.

Never, my girl, never allow the shackles of posessions to be clamped around your wings. Never adhere to the rules of life dictated by the joyless and the land locked.

Instead, be free. Give your whole self to the task of finding your whole self. Then, you may grow old beyond the cold grip of regret.

Your Dad
Sent from my BlackBerry Smartphone provided by Alltel

Caedmon Comma

2009-07-18T13:26:00.002-04:00

My Son,

Today, as I prayed for you, I held you in my arms. I thanked God that you, my son, were so great and so wonderful. Then, I looked you in the eyes and I told you that you were great, and you were wonderful. I told you that you could not be greater, or more wonderful. I was so moved with gratitude and awe, that I could think of no other word to say than "hallelujah."

I don't know when you will read this, if ever. But wherever you are in life, I want you to know that my words are still true. No matter what you've done or where you have been, you are great and wonderful. You could not be greater or more wonderful.

hallelujah

Carys Comma

2009-07-02T23:33:00.002-04:00

My Daughter,

Tonight as I held you, you looked at me with the oddest look upon your beautiful face. It was almost inquisitive, as if you were looking at me wondering "What sort of world have you brought me to?"

I must admit, I'm not sure of the answer. Except, I think that this world is what we make of it, and I think that it is good.

Dad

Carys Comma

2009-06-29T00:01:00.004-04:00

Dasein

My Daughter,

Of late I have been perusing the writing of a philosopher named Martin Heidegger. I don't understand him. I don't understand much of the words and thoughts penned by the great thinkers. Your father is a simple man. I was raised in Texas rice fields and Michigan swamps.

I have never seen a library that didn't make me pause.

You may never be a book person, and that is okay. I can't help but hope that you will be. I hope one day you can come bounding into my sight reveling in the word-wrought flame of some story or thought. I hope you tell me all about it. But, please know, that as you speak, I won't hear a word you say. For you will be so beautiful and alive that your words will become a mere pretext for your rapturous presence.

Maybe you'll read Hemingway, or Rand. Maybe you'll read the novels of your mother. Maybe you'll read Heidegger.

This Heidegger fellow seems to think that life is less authentic if it is lived without the presence of inescapable end: death. Death is that unwanted companion. I won't mislead you, he is no welcome guest in my life. Yes, I know the dead in Christ shall rise first, but I still don't wish to be among them.

Instead, I prefer to be with you, savoring every moment of a life I love.

The philosopher is right, of course. The moments that pass, pass quickly, and every one that passes brings us closer to the dust of our emanation. So, heed the philosopher, my dear. Grasp with your mind this simple fact: life will not last forever. Cherish every moment, and be grateful for the time that you are given. In doing so, you just might find who you really are.

If I take death into my life, acknowledge it, and face it squarely, I will free myself from the anxiety of death and the pettiness of life - and only then will I be free to become myself.

- Martin Heidegger

Keelie Comma

2009-06-28T23:12:00.002-04:00

My Keelie,

You are amazing embodied. How you can be so much, so easily astounds me.

I work hard to provide for our little family. Yet, all the while I am doing it, I know you could do it so much better. But, even if you were the primary financial source for our family, I can think of no greater parent. There has never been a better, more loving mother.

There is so much grace and life within you. I bask in your presence. I stand in awe of the reality I find myself in: that one so glorious glides beautiful through my constant thoughts.

You are a dream to me still.

Caedmon Comma

2009-06-12T23:43:00.002-04:00

My Son,

At night, I hear them whispering dark hushes amidst the shadows and the lies. They are the demon voices that have haunted me since the beginnings of my nights. Images of you and your mother and baby sister are thrust before my eyes and I am told...

"Corey, you have failed them all, failed them all..."

They start with whispers, and then crescendo into a clamor of shouted accusations. They are the voices of bony fingers, pointed in condemnation.

Their voices soon go raw. They need continual lubrication to continue their drivel. Yet, their thirst is only slated by our demise. Or, at least, our belief in our own demise.

Don't listen to them, son; don't listen to a word they say. By ignoring them, you will be brave - braver than your father ever was. For I listen to their dark hushes every night, while I sit in the shadows and the lies.

Dada

image source: deviant art

Carys Comma

2009-06-09T09:25:00.001-04:00

When you are at the point in your life where you are able to read this, it will already be abundantly clear to you that I know very little about raising a daughter. You see, I have had relatively little experience with ladies. I was raised by my single dad along with my two brothers (no sisters).

As I write this, you have only been with us a few days, but every time I look into your beautiful eyes, I am humbled by the task before me: to raise a baby girl into a young lady. I am hoping your mother can smooth my awkward efforts.

Help me to love you well, Carys. Forgive me when my ignorance clouds your Way.

Dada

Sent from my BlackBerry Smartphone provided by Alltel

Keelie Comma

2009-06-08T20:29:00.001-04:00

My beloved wife,

When we entered this relationship, there were things we chose to leave behind. Strewn about in our path, are the things that could call us to return to days past, solitary days with solitary pleasures.

The sacrifices you made were more profound and valuable. My dowry was a paltry sum, I fear. Perhaps that is why you have displayed a greater dedication to our marriage, a more vibrant love.

Though a beggar, I love you.

Corey

Sent from my BlackBerry Smartphone provided by Alltel

Caedmon Comma

2009-06-05T20:25:00.006-04:00

I watched you grow up a little bit today. It was a beautiful/horrible thing to watch.

Today was the first full day of having your little sister home with us. Several times today, I saw you absently staring at the wall as your mother tended to your sister. I also realize how difficult it must have been to understand why I had to brush you off when Carys needed my attention.

Your mother and I were heartbroken, when we looked into your eyes and were unable to find the baby, but instead found a contemplative young boy.

How hard it must be, my son, to be relegated. I hurt for you, and I wish I could make this easier. But, this is the plight of every oldest child and a necessary step on a journey that others have taken before you - even me.

The night your sister was born, your uncle Anthony drove 2 and a half hours to see her and almost missed his flight back to his home. He was so excited to hold her and see her.

My earliest memory is walking into a hospital to meet Anthony on the day that he was born. You have made that same walk, now to meet your sister. And, someday, you will be celebrating with your sister amidst the transitions of life.

Dada

Carys Comma

2009-06-05T12:37:00.002-04:00

My daughter, My beautiful little girl...

Welcome to the world, darling. You are already beloved by both your mother and me. Your big brother even loves you. I hope this is a great start to a great life.

You sleep a lot in these first days, and eat. Everything you do seems to be full of grace and beauty. Well, almost everything.

Today, we were able to spend a good solid half hour together. You were awake the whole time, with eyes open. I felt so blessed.

May God make you like Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah.
May God bless you and keep you.

My Child Comma

2009-06-02T10:25:00.003-04:00

At any time now, you will arrive. You will arrive into a world full of canyons and corridors.

When you come into this world, we will welcome you and commence on an adventure. Doors we'll throw open for you, and doors we will close. Joys we will lead you through, and pains as well. For, this is life, the only life we have been given. We could file a grievance and ask for a different reality, but the metaphysical bureaucracy would stagnate our hopes. All the while, doors have opened and doors have closed.

Behind some doors, there are canyons - expansive formations, full of glory and light. At night, these canyons fill with a deluge of stars. They pour out upon the gazers with their strained necks and dreams.

We will walk down this passage, you and I and our family. This passage is time - the only time we've been given.

image source - deviant art

Compendium (return)

2009-06-01T22:58:00.003-04:00

I suppose the name still applies. The name is only gateway, after all.

This blog has been a difficult place for me. It has been the source of so much good interaction, and so much unfortunate misrepresentation. I have decided to keep this blog, for reasons unknown to me. Now, it has returned. Yet, in a different way.

Here, you will find – exclusively – my humble compendium of letters. These are the correspondence I have maintained with my family. I submit them to your review for reasons I do not understand.

Forgive such humble musings as here follow. They are merely awkward attempts to understand a reality which eludes language. And, now they are yours.

Cædmon Comma

2007-12-03T02:51:00.000-05:00

First Snow

My Son,

Tonight when you awoke crying, I picked you up and held you and rocked you, and tried to buy a few more minutes of rest for your mother. I parted the curtains in your room and showed you the results of our first, hard snow. We gazed upon the winter that covered our house, and our world.

Your mother loves winter. She thinks the snow is beautiful, and looks forward to seeing the whiteness hang from the pines. It is nothing for her to clap at the first sign of snow or dance in the midst of storm.

While I thought about the beauty of your mother and the inevitability of the seasons, you quietly gnawed on my shoulder looking for nourishment, as if my shoulder would somehow lactate with enough chewing. Someday, you will reach such a state of intellectual brilliance, that you will realize that no shoulder will ever lactate. But, by that time, you will have seen twenty-eight winters and life upon life.

I pray that you will learn much from your mother. I pray that someday you will be able to dance in a world of snow, fueled by the knowledge of a not so distant season of bloom.

Don't take this world seriously, my son. It will only make you cold.

I already see your strength,
Dad

Cædmon Comma

2007-11-27T03:15:00.001-05:00

Cædmon,

You are the most wonderful boy. Your mother and I now live lives that are given flight by your smiles.

The other day, I looked into your open eyes and I realized that you embody every ideal I have for this, my only life. I saw in your eyes everything I've been searching for: contentment, hope, grace, joy, and peace.

You have been sick lately, all congested and fussy. There's really nothing we can do. So, we wait. We wait for the sickness to ebb, so that the smiles might flow forth once more, and give flight to our joys.

Caedmon Comma

2007-11-10T00:19:00.000-05:00

Summoner

My son, when you were still inside your mom, I thought you looked like an alien. You don't look so much like an alien now, but I'm still a little creeped out by you.

The moment you arrived, you ripped the most startling emotions out of me that I have ever felt. When I saw you and held you, I felt as if I could burst into a billion tiny particles and melt away in an explosion of happiness and gratitude. Such joy is so rare, and you summon it so often.

Since then, you have evoked something that I can only describe as holiness. When I'm with you I feel selfless, and even sacrificial. I jump at the opportunity to change a diaper! Anything to serve you my son! What power you wield! How can you provoke such feelings? What alien power did you bring with you?

Tonight I logged onto this computer and spent a solid hour looking at pictures of you and your mom. It was almost painful. My family is so beautiful. every picture and every memory moved and hurt.

But, why hurt? Why pain?

I don't know. I think maybe you've startled something in me. Maybe since the day you were born you have so overwhelmed me with joy that it hurts. I don't know. Whatever it is, I like it.

Life can be a dry lakebed and it can also be a sudden flood. Whatever it brings your way, please know that if you need anything, you need but summon me.

I am so glad that you are here, my boy... I am so glad you're here...

In the quiet,
when I pray,
my prayers are filled with thanksgivings

Cædmon Comma

2007-11-05T09:19:00.000-05:00

Cædmon,

Childhood is a tenuous partition that we forcelessly hold up and hide behind. It is an oasis amidst all this mess. When I was younger, I seized very opportunity to peek around the partition, or in heedless ambition, I would knock it down.

May it not be so with you, my son. Rather, carry your childhood into your adult years, so that these fears and uncertainties might remain behind a partition.

May adulthood be that future, distant country, unfound and unwanted.

Cædmon Comma

2007-10-21T01:55:00.001-04:00

ascent

Cædmon,

The other night I had a dream.

On a flight to somewhere, we crashed upon some high and distant mountain. You survived and I survived, but your mother was gone. Cold atop the mountain, you and I started our descent and left all that grief and wreckage behind. I wrapped you in every last stitch of clothing I could find, and started stumbling and trudging down the mountain, holding you in my arms.

It seemed with every step, the wind blew colder, and the path grew steeper until I slipped and slid on my back down a long, treacherous slope. The white world flew past us at break neck speed and I tried to put my feet out to slow us down, but nothing would. So, with tired arms I held you closer and tighter and that hoped we'd be okay. We finally landed, with a soft thud, in an embankment of snow.

You started crying. I talked to you; I held you against me as I walked once again. You still cried. So, I took off my own coat and faced the bitter breeze to make you warmer. Still you cried.

"I'm trying, buddy," I whispered, "I'm doing all I can."

I walked and I walked and eventually your crying ceased. I could see nothing but white, but still I walked on. With every step I trudged, I could feel less of my body, until, with a certain numbness I blindly stumbled toward elevations below. And with every shiver I felt from you, I stopped and asked your forgiveness. I prayed your cries would return.

With an urgency, I walked and I walked and I walked as the snow fell all around…

And, then, when I could walk no more, I looked up and saw the warm places of the world all around and people were there to help.

Overjoyed, I removed layer after layer from my arms, and found you bundled beneath. Your body was cold – so cold. You weren't breathing; you weren't moving. So, I turned away from the warm places and the people, and holding your soft still form, I ascended the mountain. We walked back into the cold.

My son, this was, perhaps, as awful a dream as I could ever have. But, when the awakening finally came, I wondered at the joy of experiencing something… together.

Dad

Cædmon Comma

2007-10-17T09:39:00.001-04:00

Cædmon,

Someday you will eat from the fruit of the tree – the Tree of the Knowledge. And you will partake. Perhaps you'll partake because the fruit looks appealing. Perhaps you'll partake because a friend will give a taste to a friend. Perhaps you'll partake at the behest of a snake's whispers.

I know you'll eat the fruit. I did. And you will enjoy the taste. I did. But as you bite into the inevitable fruit, do not too quickly forget the time before you reached the Knowledge. Someday, my son, innocence will be a memory, a forgotten taste.

I hope, someday, when the fruit of the Knowledge churns within you, I hope you remember ...

I'm not sure, but I suspect that the Knowledge, in some way, make life better. But, it also makes us older, and robs us of our sleep. I suspect that the Knowledge keeps us from each other, keeps a wall between us. I suspect that there is a time in our future when we will walk together without inhibition. And the Knowledge will be a memory, a taste unforgotten.

Dad

Caedmon Comma

2007-10-02T00:03:00.000-04:00

Caedmon,

Today I watched you sleeping in my arms. Beneath your closed lids, your eyes moved, painting a dreamscape. What do you dream of?

Dreams feed on the events of our days. But you have only been here for a matter of hours. What do you dream of?

Could it be that your dreams are filled with memories of the days when you lived within your mother. Do you dream of a place, warm and liquid, where the world is at peace and closed? Do you hear the harmonies of the utopia that you came from?

I hope, my son, that your days out here will be full of dreams dreamed and dreams fulfilled.

Caedmon Emmanuel

2007-09-28T12:45:00.000-04:00

My son, Caedmon Emmanuel LeCureux, was born at 11:50am, September 28th. Mom' did great and bothe she and the baby are healthy.

My Child Comma

2007-09-19T23:21:00.000-04:00

My Child,

I don't remember a lot of things. I don't even remember the day I was born and I don't remember the sounds that filled the time in my mother's womb. I wonder if there was a voice that spoke in that womb, a voice that I have forgotten.

Soon. Soon you will arrive here in this world full of want. We, the people all want so much. So we pray. We ask some mysterious illusive notion for much but not as much as you would think. Mostly we ask for a momentary relief from these troubles.

Your father has often gone petitioning to this god. When I was not much older than you, I would fall to sleep looking out the window at the stars and talking to a god, talking to a god who listened and listened night after night.

The nights turned to weeks and years and I needed him to hear me less and less. As I grew older I started needing him to speak. I needed him to answer my questions and my wantings. And so he spoke... several times he has spoke to me of late. And every time that he has spoken to me, he has told me that he loves me. That is all I have heard from him, that he loves me and loves me and loves me and loves me and loves me...

He has never answered my questions. Is he hiding something or is his love so urgent? Is it so difficult to break through my petitioning that he can only speak the most potent message from a distance?

I pray so rarely now.

I know, my child, I know this god is good. I know so little about this god but I know that he is good. So, listen to him while he speaks, and speak to him while he listens. And teach us about such rhythm and sound.

Can you hear him now? In the midst of the rhythmic beats of your mothers heart do you hear the voice that we, the people, have forgotten?

----------------
Now playing: Third Eye Blind - I Want You
via FoxyTunes

Image Source: deviant art

My Child Comma

2007-09-05T00:29:00.001-04:00

My Child, you were conceived at halftime of last year's Rose Bowl. Since then, Michigan has forgotten how to play football. Which means, you are Anathema to the maze and blue elect of almighty God.

You are cursed.

It saddens me, but it is true.

My Child Comma

2007-09-03T15:53:00.000-04:00

I haven't wrote to you in some time. There's a reason - I haven't liked you much lately. Since I last wrote you, I have had trouble sleeping, focusing and I have cycled through some rare emotions.

Everyone tells me how wonderful it is to be a father and that parenthood changes and defines a persons life and reality. They're probably right, but the changes aren't always easy. In recent weeks financial stresses, relational insecurities, and professional frustrations have loomed large. I have found myself awake in the night, unable to sleep and trying not to think of you.

I feel like a damned fool for saying it, but you're going to arrive at a bad time. And I can't help but resent you for it.

It's not your fault, I know. And we'll make it just fine, I know.

But, when the problems are mine, why is it that I flee from you?

My Child Comma

2007-07-31T11:00:00.000-04:00

My Child,

These letters have had a tendency to be introspective confessionals for me. I'm sorry for that. I mean, who wants to read that stuff? But, to be honest, I don't know what else to say. I mean, you live inside my wife. How am I supposed to carry on a conversation with you.

You look like a lizard.

Lizards are good for confession.

I had a dream recently and it was kind of about you. I don't often remember my dreams, and when I do they are usually the opposite of profound and involve being interrogated by Captain Crunch.

Anyway, your mother and I have been discussing whether I should be in the room when you're delivered. Honestly, I've been hesitant. To me the whole process seems like a macabre hybrid of deer gutting and baby shower. Just a little bit too weird for your old man. I'm not sure I'll be of much use.

So, I had this dream. In the dream, Keelie went into labor and called me. I was at work, and I told her I'd meet her at the hospital. I knew it would take a while for you to squirt out so I took my time getting there - stopped for coffee.

When I walked into the delivery room you had already arrived.

I awoke with such an intense feeling of disappointment. So, I guess what I'm saying is, I want to be there when you arrive. But, if you don't mind, I'd still like to stop for coffee.

Thanks, Lizard.

My Child Comma

2007-07-23T02:58:00.001-04:00

My Child,

I've been getting your room ready. We've painted the walls and are restoring the wood floor. When we pulled the carpet up, and found the floor beneath we were very excited. It was old, but in fairly good condition. I started sanding the floor when I found a lot of spots where furniture had carved wounds into the wood – scrapes, discolorations, and gaps that would need repair. So, I filled the wounds with wood puddy; then I stained the entire floor to cover the discoloration of the mending I had performed. But, you can still see the scrapes, the wounds. They may always be there.

I wonder if our first days will be great. I wonder if there will be days when I am a hero, capable of anything. How disappointing will it be to find my scars one day? I have tried so hard to cover them, but they're there, and they may always be there. Will such blemish merely add dimension to your father, or will they harm you too?

The other night I prayed to God. I asked him to keep me from ever harming you. I prayed to God to keep me from leaving scars.

I prayed for you.

The stain is on the floor, but the polyurethane is not down yet, so it is prone to damage right now. The last time I entered, I took my shoes off, as if I was walking unto holy ground.

Perhaps you are holy. Holy and fragile – prone to pain, scars. Just like your father.

One day, I will sit on this floor and, unashamed I will listen to you say whatever you need to say, and with unhealed hands, I will hold you steady... steady as hands like these can.

Image Source: Deviant Art

Dad Blog

2007-07-20T11:38:00.000-04:00

I’ve enjoyed all the thoughts on being a Dad that I’ve had a chance to read on several blogs. I thought I would put together a composite of Dad posts from some of the blogs I frequent. I learn a lot from these posts, and I guess this to say thanks and let’s have some more!

From Conversations About the Kingdom – I appreciate the Shepherd that Jerry is to his Church and his family.

From My Perception—Brian enjoys being an agitator, with Seth’s arrival, he will now be agitated!

From Ranting and Raving—Jay has found the secret to great parenting: making fun of his kids.

From Sojourner—Toby and his kids have been through so much. Somehow he has been able to guide his family through so much. He should write a book.

From Visions of Time – When Gary’s not cracking a code, he’s learning from his son. Judging from his posts, he has a great teacher.

My Child Comma

2007-07-10T15:27:00.000-04:00

sanding

My Child,

I spent almost all day yesterday sanding the floor of what will be your room. Beneath the carpet, we found some old wood flooring in pretty rough shape. So, we're preparing it for your arrival. Soon, we'll stain, we'll varnish, and watch the floor shine in anticipation of your arrival.

You'll have to excuse a couple spots on the floor. They almost appear gray. I think they are spots where furniture has scraped the floor in some time in the past. I like to think that such scars show age and experience. I like to think that these blemishes make the floor well qualified to walk upon and fall against.

I thought about the worst harm. This worst harm is that harm which we inflict on our selves. I still carry the guilt and consequences of the times I've hurt others. I carry the pain. I like to think that such scars show age and experience. I like to think that these blemishes make me well qualified to walk upon and fall against.

Somewhere in the midst of sanding that floor, I stopped, sat down on the floor, and watched as the sun descended somewhere beyond the window... somewhere beyond the West. They say there are mountains in the West - mountains that can reach up and touch the whiteness of the clouds. But, the mountains are jagged and pocked from erosion and experience. How extraordinary to experience so much... to touch the sky...

I thought about you. I thought about the skies you will touch.

My Child Comma

2007-06-21T12:04:00.000-04:00

My Child,

I am going to hurt you, I am going to cause you pain. I am going to give you reason to reflect on my remarkable cruelty. I am going to say things into your hearing that you will tell your shocked therapist years later.

I'm just writing to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all the unnecessary baggage that I'll heap upon you, and force you to carry on the journey of your choosing.

I hope you carry it better than I have carried mine. I hope you display a zealous strength - a resilience rare and bright.

Just know that parental apologies are rare in the light of day. Beneath the moon, however, as you dream your dreams, I will whisper words that cannot be shouted honestly: "I'm sorry."

There was a time I could move there was a time I could breathe
The crowded spaces filled with angry faces
It didn’t once cross my mind
With paranoia on my heels; Will you love me still
when we awake and see that the sanity has gone from my eyes?

I got secrets from you, you got secrets from me
Because you’re so worried about what I’m gonna to think,
Well I’m worried too
But if love is a game, girl, then you’re gonna win
I’ll spend the rest of my life bringing victory in
If you want me to

- Paranoia in Bb Major
The Avett Brothers

My Child Comma

2007-05-21T02:21:00.000-04:00

My child,

At times I remember my parents, as you will one day remember me. There was so much that they were, and were not.

And when they loved us, we looked up into their eyes and gave silent thanks to such beneficent deities, that would love a thing so small and frail.

And when they harmed us, we carried the undeserved wounds as if they were payment for being brought to a place so full of wonder and truth.

But the wounds- they festered, and bled, and became infected with the vilest fervency. During the infected fever of the night, we rolled and tried to toss the heat from us, the harm. Strange visions and recollections haunted us through the moonlight as we cried their names, cried their names.

When we woke from the fever, we were children no longer; we were strong and scarred.

And, now, we turn to love our own children, and you look up to us with eyes of silent thanks. And in those eyes, I feel I could dance to a waltz unsung. I feel I could render silent thanks to such a deity, that would love a thing so small, so frail.

My child, I am only you, and I would never hope to be more.

My Child Comma

2007-05-16T00:18:00.000-04:00

Like the storied rabbit, I long to be real.

Maybe you will help me with this, for I am threatened by this fever and this fire. The city on seven hills burns as Nero laughs and blames, and I can only watch it slip away.

And I fear that you will be the boy that smooths my velvet, that puts breath in my lungs. I fear you will coax a holy tear down my tattered face. I "fear" because I should be the one teaching you. But, somehow, I think you will teach me far more than I could ever teach you.

And all I can offer you in return, is a home and a heart eager to beat a rhythm of love, lungs eager to breathe; and a tattered, used up velvet touch.

When you enter this world, I will tell you of the storied rabbit, longing to be real.

You are so real to me,
so real...

My Child Comma

2007-05-09T00:25:00.000-04:00

My Child,

Today, I was on my way to a coffeeshop when I saw a giant chicken dancing and waving a sign by the side of a road. The coffeeshop I was going to was across the street from the chicken, so I got a good look at the bird. The chicken was holding a sign for a hair salon. I wondered at the absurdity of it.

After ordering a massive cup of Beaners Michigan Cherry, I inquired of the barista on his thoughts about poultry and haircuts and the absurdity of it all. He just shrugged and gave me my change.

My child, your mother and I are bringing you into this world - the only world I have ever known. It is a small, strange world. Here, people in chicken suits advertise haircuts. Here, overqualified baristas shrug at the surreal.

And I wait to welcome you into this world - the only world I have ever known.

My Child Comma

2007-05-03T23:59:00.000-04:00

Pantheon

My Child,

Your mother swears she can feel you kicking. She says this is a sign that you will be an active child. I don't know about all that, but it does get me thinking about you, about what you are soon going to be like. What will you kick against out here?

Kick against much, my child, kick against much.

For, out here, in this vast Pantheon, we are surrounded with small tremulous gods born out of want and need, but they are found wanting when called on for provision and truth. Their disciples spout mad creeds and justify unending battles, and I fear we are left staring up at the crumbling structures and strictures that threaten to fall upon our heads.

Your mother says you will be active. That's good, for there is much to do, much to kick.

Listen to me - planning your life. I should not do that. Perhaps you will look at the world with an apathy that I will envy. Or perhaps you will love walking these ruins staring at the warmonger Ares, or the rapist patriarch, Zeus. Perhaps you will spout mad creeds and justifications. Whatever makes you happy. But, I only ask that when Zeus approaches, you kick. You deserve more than the mockery affections of these lesser gods, my child.

I hope you find enough deity within yourself, within your mother's love. I hope your Elysium will be more than a dream whisper - I hope you can wake to it, and look upon it with the weary eyes of morning.

I guess I'm just looking forward to walking through this Pantheon with you, teaching you and learning from you, like too small archaeologists amongst the ruins of wisdom.

Right now, you are a small unified perfection, and when you finally enter this Pantheon, you can only degenerate into the most boisterous deity.

My Child Comma

2007-04-17T10:23:00.000-04:00

My Child,

I feel like I should apologize. You see, in this - the only reality I have ever known - I have never been a father. I'm still struggling to figure out what the term "Father" means. So, you, my child, are the first child in my reality. That means I am certain to fail, I'm certain to dissapoint. I haven't had any practice. Hopefully, you will find enough grace to allow me to be this first time Father, this bumbling, baffled dad.

You have no idea how intimidating you are. Sometimes I fear that I am yet too adolescent and childish to do you any good. In this, the only reality I've ever known, I've always had a dad of my own. Now, the tables have turned. The questions plague - Am I ready? Can I do this?

But, I'll try... I'll try to make this (the only reality you will ever know) a wonderful, playful, loving joy - an existence bright and beautiful. You deserve it. God help me to give it to you. God help this bumbling, baffled dad to become a Father - capable and caring.

My Child Comma

2007-04-05T01:16:00.000-04:00

My Child,

I hope you're alright, because this week your mother had to go through a lot. She had to face some things and do some things that were not easy. Yet, she showed such courage and such fire in this situation, that I beamed in pride... adoration.

Right now, she's sleeping on the couch while I write this. Earlier tonight, we went out and celebrated with a meal and a gift. The gift was a set of earrings for your mom. The earrings were the shape of butterflies, with wings outstretched, as if ready for the wind. We thought these were appropriate, since this week your mom left behind a cocoon of doubt and guilt, with hopes of flight.

My child, one day you're going to have to be brave enough to climb out of a cocoon. One day, you'll need to grow long delicate wings and allow yourself to be lifted on the wind. It is not an easy thing to do - to leave a warm, safe cocoon for all the dangers of flight. But, it has to be done. Because wings are made for flight and flights are made for courage, and courage is something we can all look upon with pride... adoration.

Don't let anyone stop you - especially me.

My Child Comma

2007-03-29T11:55:00.000-04:00

My Child,
When I was younger, I loved music so much that I would try and get the music as close to my brain as possible. At that time, radios had headphones, but they were huge monstrosities that looked like a pilot should be wearing them while listening to some mundane instructions from distant voices.

Nonetheless, I would put these headphones on, turn the volume up as much as possible and bask in the melody, the harmony, and the rhythm... the sound of it all. But, full volume and huge headphones weren't enough. So I would reach up, and press the phones against my ears so they were closer, closer to my brain; so that the sound of it was not only part of what I heard, it was all that I heard. I pressed the phones until the music drowned out those mundane instructions from distant voices.

Today, headphones are almost microscopic. A person can be listening to a "nano" music device at full blast and you can hardly tell. But, the music, my child... you should hear the music! It is so full of anger and grace and beauty that I fear, sometimes, that the Earth will burst for want of space.

Will you even enjoy music? Will all that rhythm, fury and sound mean anything to you at all?

Perhaps you enjoy music even now. Some people say that I'm supposed to place those giant headphones on your mother's protruding belly, and let you listen... to beauty. But, I wonder if you can hear your mother's heart - it is so close to you - as it thumps and beats like a drum of flesh. Do you hear the inhale/exhale, liquid melodies of anatomy and grace? Do you hear your mother and I in the night, whispering about you with hushed joy and silent pleasures?

Maybe you will love music, or maybe it will be an escape. Maybe one day, you will press impossibly large headphones against your ears until distant voices fade away. Maybe one of those voices will be mine. But, until then, my child, enjoy this musical time; be enchanted by this symphony somatic. And someday, we will sing
of you
and for you
and with you.

Keelie Comma

2007-03-15T01:16:00.000-04:00

I guess you don't need it
I guess you don't want me to repeat it
But everything I have to give I'll give to you
It's not like we planned it
You tried to stay, but you could not stand it
To see me shut down slow
as though it was an easy thing to do

Listen when
All of this around us'll fall over
I tell you what we're gonna do
You will shelter me my love
And I will shelter you
I will shelter you

- Ray LaMontagne, "Shelter"

My Child Comma

2007-03-12T01:30:00.000-04:00

My Child,

Today your mother was trying to illustrate for me how long you were and that started us into a discussion about the best way to illustrate two and a half inches. Whatever the best way is, you are still very small right now.

And I wonder what it must be like to live a strange small life inside such a one as your mother. She is this startling, wonderful package of laughter and love and whispered beauty. Does that mean that you are floating in all that? How wonderful that must be.

Your mother tells me about how warm and safe it is inside of her - where you live now. And as she tells me this, I can't help but think that it will be warm and safe out here, too. And that is because of your mother.

I read this book, from time to time, that talks about a reality that is safe and warm in a future time, a future world. And I think in that time, we will all be like children again. And I think there, our Mother will surround us with love.

Take up your arm
Sons and daughters
We will arise from the bunkers
By land, by sea, by dirigible
We'll leave our tracks untraceable now

When we arrive
Sons and daughters
We'll make our lives on the water...

Here all the bombs fade away

-The Decemberists
"Sons and Daughters"

My Child Comma

2007-02-26T13:46:00.000-05:00

My Child,

travels

Long ago we lost the blues-fed longing for mercy that made the world so glad. My child, somewhere long ago we lost the lonely vocation that would wrap us with all the silly wonder we now long to find. And even I, your father, can look back on a long trail spanning two decades. I can see my path clearly - it is littered with ideals that have fell from me, step after step, compromise galore.

And, now the Utopia I was supposed to build for you, seems far far away. It may be too far for me ever to achieve. But I can guarantee that the road there wil not be crowded, it won't be filled with the throng.

I cannot commend you to it, but I hope that you will go.

Keelie Comma

2007-02-19T14:55:00.000-05:00

When I am alone
When I’ve thrown off the weight of this crazy stone
When I've lost all care for the things I own
That's when I miss you, that's when I miss you,
You who are my home
And here is what I know now
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love...

- Alexi Murdoch
From "Orange Sky"

My Child Comma

2007-01-30T17:12:00.000-05:00

My child,

It snowed so much yesterday. You should have seen it.

You have made your mother very tired lately. She came home yesterday dizzy and badly in need of a rest on the couch. It's good, though - please know that. We are so happy to have your pleasent inconveniences in our life.

I have been learning a lot about myself lately and a lot about what happened to me when I was smaller, when I was younger. And, I've learned that so much of what happened then has made me what i am now. I now know that I learned long ago how to run from the deepest emotions. I ran because my deep emotions were like dark, mysterious caves and when i was younger and smaller I needed to stay away from those caves - those frightening places. But, now your mother gives me so much love and affection that it opens up those deep caves and I try to run and I try to hide and i tis so hard to remember that I am bigger now - I'm older. I can deal with caves now.

My child, when you are in my arms and in my home, I hope my caves and my deep places are open to you.

It snowed so much yesterday. You should have seen it. Pure white snow covered the whole world and made it bright and beautiful.

My Child Comma

2007-01-25T23:39:00.000-05:00

Potential

My Child,

The other day your mother and I went to the doctor's office. They told us all sorts of mundane and boring details about you. They told us about your nutrition and your needs. Right now, you are so small they refer to you as cellular. You're so small that you're a microscopic jumble of potential and magic.

I have so much that I'm going to tell you, to show you... so much we're going to see. Your mother touches her abdomen and smiles in beauty, and right now you are hiding safely somewhere inside of all that beauty.

God help me, I hope it is warm and safe for you out here with me. We can hide, together. I'm going to try so hard - I really will.

Right now, you're so small that you're just a jumble of potential and magic. But, your heart will soon be beating and I swear I can hear your anointing from here. Such music is so kind, so beautiful ... full of magic and hope...

Keelie Comma

2007-01-23T16:00:00.001-05:00

When you told me, I went back to bed, back to sleep and the elusive reality patiently awaited my full attention. When I took my morning shower, I reviewed the to-do list in my head and thought about the taste of coffee. Every once in a while, that day, what you told me would creep back in my head and remind me that things are often new. But, my day continued.

After lunch, I sat back at my desk and what you told me returned to my mind, and this time it stuck. I got up from my desk and walked downstairs, I lay down on the couch and watched my hands tremble.

I know all the reasons my hand trembled. I know that what you told me means I am no longer young. I know that what you told me means we are no longer two. I know that what you told means everything will be different from now on. I know that the world has transformed. I know why my hands tremble.

The trembling passed thought, and the reality of what you told sunk deeper... deeper than my hands. The reality sank into my heart. I thought about baseball games and small cries in the night. I thought about the smiles of a tiny person illuminating our home and our lives.

I thought about extension, my love. I thought about all that these three years have meant to me. I thought of how wonderful and beautiful this has all been. I realized that now, we have given all of that to the world.

Keelie, when we leave this world behind, we will leave our unity and communion behind as well in the form of our child.

What you told me has filled me with so much joy.